And despite the sounds of drums, horns and bagpipes, there was an underlying silence – only broken by the applause of those standing on the curb straining to see the faces of the day’s heroes.

Yet this year seemed different somehow. Yes it was the same music, same uniforms, same streets. But something in the crowd had changed.

Every year you see small children clutching their parents’ hands waving plastic Australian flags, and every year you see older Tasmanians retelling stories to those beside them.

But this year, more than any I can remember, standing alongside us were an overwhelming number of migrants; new Tasmanians who had come to share in our memories and to pay their respects. Women with head scarves holding babies while their younger children sat around their legs.

I couldn’t help but wonder how much they actually knew about Anzac Day. Were they aware of our greatest wartime sacrifice at Villers-Bretonneux in France? Had they heard the legend of Gallipoli?

Regardless of what they may or may not have known, their eyes held sadness and their faces remained solemn as each section of the Anzac Day march passed us by. It was obvious they knew about loss.

In that moment, it didn’t matter what countries had fought in what wars.

Along with everyone else standing there, they just reached out and became part of their community’s sorrow over what had been lost and commemorated the significance of the Anzac Spirit.

Typical boys, my two youngest children wanted to know who the Australian soldiers were fighting against and who had won the battle.

For them it’s still a black and white issue where there is a winner and a loser.

Every year I am lost for words trying to explain, and while once we were enemies with the countries we battled against, in many instances the passage of time has seen those nations become our friends.

But what I did tell them this year was that regardless of what part of the world you were born in, the soldiers who fought our wars, did so for us.

They did it because they wanted a safe country which is now being shared by all Australians including new Australians who, because of their sacrifice have been able to find safe refuge right here.

A tear rolled down the cheek of a woman with jet black eyes wearing a blue headscarf and fell onto the streets of Launceston this Anzac Day.

A beautiful moment of thanks for the life she and her children can now lead.